A search for origins is also always a search for meaning. In a time of political crisis such as ours, when origin narratives are especially tempting, fresh reminders of their limitations and violent potential are welcome.
Thoreau is a figure who all at once embodies, hyperbolizes, and in that hyperbolization lays excruciatingly bare the contradictions of what Michael Warner calls “liberal culture,” and that for our part we might name secular capitalist modernity.
These restrictions must take into careful consideration the historicity of each religious tradition, the social influence of religious beliefs among its citizens, but also theological and exegetical specificities that influence the tradition’s adaptability to the current emergency. Without such thoughtful considerations and a close collaboration with trusted religious authorities, religious communities could be alienated, which can be disruptive in times that require rather unity of thought and action.
In times as uncertain as ours, these reflections serve as welcome reminders of the importance of political resistance, critique, and the near-militant self-awareness that characterizes Thoreau’s work.
Our political theology is strengthened by trusting that the words of the Son of Man are a fleshly restatement of what is divinely just and good and holy and lovely. Because Christ has come and his presence is with us, God’s words are even more accessible to us.
Uprooting a fear without replacing it with helpful information is redundant. Therefore, it is time to shift focus from merely quashing anti-vaccine sentiment to intentionally building vaccine confidence. Nigeria provides a heartening case study on how this can be achieved.
In following Jesus, they would break the chains of doing things the way they were always done, and they would have a chance to form a new community. But they were to leave behind all the comfort and security.
How might we think about political theology in the absence of conventional scriptural, interpretive or institutional authorities together with their conceptual worlds?
Matthew’s careful quotation of Isaiah 60 urges us to perceive that the birth of the poor, brown boy in a back corner of the Roman empire was the dawning of God’s glory upon humanity. Let us, then, celebrate—not with fear and self-preservation, but with confident investment in human flourishing.
It seems like an important task of political theology is to critically reflect on moments of political crisis by pulling back the veil on its latent theological content.
The question for us, and for the field of political theology, is how do we wish to live in the end?